The smell of ginger and cinnamon filled our house yesterday. Hannah, our daughter, was home from her clinical rotations and was making ginger cutout cookies. She got the recipe from a cookbook given to her many years ago as a Christmas present from her Aunt Robin. She’s always loved to bake. I helped her finish up and did the dishes.
Working together again in the kitchen and all the spicy smells reminded me of so many past Christmases. We often baked over 100 tiny cinnamon cakes for the Christmas Eve service. They would be part of the story of Babushka, a Russian folk tale.
In the story the Magi visit Babushka’s cottage and invite her to join them in their search for the child who was born a king. Babushka is too busy baking and cleaning to join them that night. In the morning she rises to the smell of cinnamon that had swirled around these visitors from the East. The scent causes a change of heart and she puts down her broom and races down the road. Her search for the child goes on and on, year after year.
Remembering the Magi and their gifts, she keeps sweets in the pockets of her apron. These are her gifts to the Christ child. And not knowing who this child is, she leaves a sweet cake for every child.
“At night, a mother, glimpsing into a nursery might see a strange old figure. But just as quickly, the silent shadowy shape would be gone. Then the mother would notice a small treat lying on the pillow by her child’s head and smell the faint scent of cinnamon that lingered in the air. Babushka has been here, the mother would sigh knowingly”
I always loved the end of the story at church when I passed out the sweet spice cakes to each child in the congregation. The cakes were a reminder to us all that everyone is sacred and loved by our God, especially the kids. A love we could taste in cinnamon and spice.
We continue Babushka’s search remembering the child born a king. A king who taught us, “Let the children come unto me, do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to them.”
We can cradle hope because of the one born in manger and wrapped in swaddling clothes. We can hope because of the one wrapped in linen shroud and laid in a tomb. The women brought their spices to lay next to his head too. But he wasn’t there. His death wasn’t the end. There was more. There is always more.
The angels told the women that first Easter, “He is not here, he goes on before you.” The angel’s words are good news for us too. We can continue the journey on together following the one who makes a way even through death. And as we travel may we leave some gifts for one another, especially the children.
Recently one of the kids at Lincoln Park Middle School where I work as a paraprofessional asked me to take him for a walk before he punched someone out. I said, “Sure, glad you asked. This is a really good choice.” We walked for about 15 minutes and then we found ourselves in front of the school’s Random Acts of Kindness bulletin board. I asked if he wanted to pull a slip and fill it out. He did. He pulled the one that said, “let a teacher know they are doing a really good job.” I found him a pencil and he filled it out. We went back to class and he handed it to his English teacher.
Yes, there are so many forms of sweet treats for us as we make our way.
Let us, like Babushka, leave some too.
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